‘We know who you are,’ Byrd said with a snort that made him sound like a horse. ‘Your face has been splashed across every newspaper and TV screen in the country.’ But he didn’t shake Jennifer’s hand as if she were a celebrity. Instead, he grabbed her elbow and jerked her forward.
Jennifer hated it when people did that. It reminded her of being herded along by Sister Imogene John back in parochial school. Byrd’s touch made Jennifer flinch, and that was enough to provoke him to tighten his grip even more. Her legs were still weak. She would have paid a thousand – no ten thousand – dollars for just a few moments of fresh air. But it wasn’t going to happen. She was locked inside. There was no way out. She took a deep breath of what foul air there was, and she knew now what she smelled. It was despair.
The guard pulled her by her upper arm. ‘Please don’t shove me,’ Jennifer said defiantly to Byrd. He said nothing in response, but continued to shove her just the same. ‘We’re not getting off to a good start here,’ Jennifer said, stumbling once again on the highly polished floors.
‘You better take off the heels,’ the officer named Roger told her, not unkindly. ‘Why don’t you take them off and carry them? That will help. We don’t want you to fall.’
Jennifer looked down at her Louboutins and then at the long hallway before her. She didn’t want to go barefoot, but Byrd drew his face right up to Jennifer’s, and she could smell the hot, unpleasant combination of tobacco, chewing gum, and … With real venom he rephrased Roger’s suggestion into an order and barked, ‘Get rid of the shoes. Do you understand?’ His breath withered Jennifer’s anger. She took off the shoes, and then, with one in each hand and a guard on each elbow, she took her first steps into the prison. Maybe it was a defense mechanism, but at that moment, all Jennifer could think about was how much those shoes had cost.
The hall seemed endless. When at last they stopped in front of a closed door, Jennifer suddenly panicked. She actually didn’t want the guards to let go of her arms. She was afraid that she might collapse in fear. The sign on the door read INMATE INTAKE. With false bravado she asked Officer Camry, ‘Is there another door for Inmate Exhaust?’
‘In here,’ Byrd ordered as he opened the door. Jennifer walked ahead of them and into the room alone.
Inside, a counter cut the small, gray-green space in half. Behind the check-in counter was an open door, and in that doorway lounged a tall, attractive woman. She had the palest skin and the blackest hair that Jennifer had ever seen – a sort of jailhouse Morticia Addams. If she had had a better haircut, she would’ve been stunning. But even here, in that ugly jumpsuit and in the hideous fluorescent lighting, she was striking. She had the high cheekbones, the long straight nose, and the pale blue eyes of a better-looking Celtic hillbilly. Well, at least now Jennifer could begin the process of getting out of this place. Without hesitation, she strode up to the counter where the desk clerk stood and asked, ‘Have I received any messages?’
‘Have you what!’ Morticia asked in amused disbelief.
‘Have I received any messages?’ Jennifer repeated. ‘I’m expecting a call from my lawyer.’
‘Oh my Lord,’ the woman laughed, ‘she’s one of those.’ And both officers – even the nice one – laughed right along with Morticia. Jennifer cursed herself for her foolish gaffe. Her head was swimming. But she was so accustomed to hotel check-ins, where the faxes and messages were always waiting, that only now did she realize that the jumpsuit the woman was wearing was in fact a prison uniform – she was just another inmate. Jennifer felt her face color.
Officer Camry pulled out a key chain packed more densely than the A train at rush hour and unlocked a door on the wall next to the counter. ‘Please step right through here and turn to your left,’ Officer Camry said.
Jennifer obliged his courteous request, and found herself in a room with nothing in it but a chair that had a bright orange jumpsuit folded neatly on the seat. She took a step closer to the chair and heard the door slam behind her just as yet another door in the far wall burst open. Jennifer spun around to see that she was alone, then she spun again to see who was about to enter. In her dizzy state she lost her balance, almost fell to the floor, and watched as her expensive shoes slid across the polished surface and into the feet of a tall, severe woman dressed in a long white lab coat.
‘You’ll need to strip down,’ the woman said firmly. ‘It’s time for your exam.’ Her voice was deep – as deep as her waist was wide. She wasn’t really fat, but any niceties like a waistline or hips – if she’d ever had them – were long gone. ‘Get on your feet, strip, and fold your clothes,’ the baritone in white instructed.
‘Are you a doctor?’ Jennifer asked without standing.
‘I’m the intake officer,’ came the reply, which Jen noted was not exactly an answer but, it seemed, was all she was going to get. The intake officer pointed to a sign that read, in both English and Spanish: REMOVE ALL CLOTHING, JEWELRY, AND OTHER PERSONAL EFFECTS, INCLUDING CONTRABAND. HANG YOUR CLOTHES ON THE PEGS OR PLACE THEM IN THE PLASTIC BAG YOU’LL FIND UNDER THE GOWN. WHEN YOUR FINISHED, RING THE BUZZER.
‘Can you read?’ she asked in her neutral tone.
Jennifer looked at her as if she were crazy. ‘Yes, I can read,’ she shot back. ‘I can read well enough to see the typo.’
‘What typo?’ the officer asked.
‘The second your,’ Jennifer told her.
‘It’s not mine,’ the officer sighed.
‘That’s the point. The your isn’t the personal possessive. It should be the contraction,’ Jennifer continued.
‘Do you understand what the sign means?’
‘Yes,’ Jennifer admitted.
‘Fine,’ the officer said. ‘Then forget the spelling and do what you’re told.’ Then she turned and left Jennifer alone in the room.
Jennifer read the sign again. It might as well have read, ‘Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.’ God. What could she do? On the other side of the door she could hear the guards laughing. This was no country club and so far she certainly wasn’t receiving the special treatment that Donald and Tom had promised she would get. This all had to be some kind of mistake. She must be in the wrong department. That must be it. There was probably some other area, some VIP lounge where decent people were waiting for her. She stood up, gave the buzzer a push, then lifted the jumpsuit and plastic bag off the chair and sat down to wait, mindlessly stroking the nasty synthetic texture of the jumpsuit as if it were a kitten she held on her lap.
The door was suddenly pulled open and Officer Camry walked in. ‘Do you have a problem, Miss Spencer?’
Jennifer smiled at him as if she were a debutante who had found herself at the wrong cotillion. ‘Well,’ she began, ‘I don’t think it’s really a problem. I just realized there’s probably been a mistake. I don’t think I’m supposed to be here. Is there someone besides the … intake officer you could take me to speak with?’
Camry took a deep breath, then shook his head. ‘Miss Spencer, you were told to follow the directions on this sign, and while you’re here at Jennings, you will not be told anything twice.’ God! Even the good cop was turning nasty on her. ‘Do you understand that?’ he asked. Before Jen could nod she heard Byrd yell.
‘She need help pulling off her panties? I’m available for a strip search,’ he said and laughed.
Jennifer shuddered, then stood up. She didn’t want to lose the only friend she had in the place, but she tried one more time. ‘Yes,’ she told Camry as calmly as she could, ‘I do understand. But do you understand what I’m saying? I’m not